Three Dragons
by electricdream101
Summary: Mirri Maz Durr was wrong, after all. Daenerys Targaryen could bear living children, and Jon Snow, Robert and Lyanna's bastard, could be king after all. This is the story of their three dragons. Jon/Dany. OC's are present here.


Disclaimer: All characters, names and places belong to George R. R. Martin. I do own this fanfic, and the OC's in them.

**Rhaenys**

Her earliest memory was of her four-year-old self, shoving her small fist gently into the big heathen fire they always seemed to have at feasts. She frowned then, when she discovered she felt absolutely nothing, whilst she saw many a servant girl accidentally burned by clumsy cooking or rarely (as her parents would have heart attacks if they knew), a traitor to the realm subject to trial by fire. How come they could feel something so vivid, so alien to her, while she couldn't feel the fire that every Targaryen was known for, and feared for?

Viserion's roar was heard throughout the castle, and many say, extended as a whisper licking the tips of King's Landing. Her dragon was tasked at her birth to watch over her, be with her always, and later on, to be an extension of herself when she would learn to take flight. Viserion frightened her then, although his sheer size, pointed teeth, and fire-breathing never did before. Fearing she might have done something wrong, little Rhaenys pulled her hand away from the flames, and kept them locked behind her.

She saw her mother enter the doorway, lilac eyes rimmed to the brim with concern and maybe the slightest bit of panic. Rhaenys assumed then that Viserion's roar must've been of great importance for her lady mother to act in that manner. Dany rushed to her daughter's side, and examined her clenched fist, opening it.

"Were you burned, sweetling?"

"No, mother.."

"You must tell me the truth dear. If your hand, or any part hurts, I must know right away."

"But… mother.."

Rhaenys raised her eyes to level her mother's. It bothered Rhaenys to know they were still wrought with disquiet.

"How does fire… feel?"

Unbeknownst to Rhaenys, Dany had no idea what to say. Her toddler still did not know of the title "the Unburnt", only that her lady mother was First of her Name, and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Well… they say it's supposed to hurt," Dany answered, truthfully. It had been years past now. She'd forgotten whether she had ever once felt the sensation of burning. Pain yes, but she couldn't quite remember burning, even before the funeral pyre of Khal Drogo, which seemed like eons ago. Dany absentmindedly stroked her daughter's hand, and met the gaze of the eyes that many said were Aegon's indigo ones.

"But.. mother.. I felt nothing," replied Rhaenys innocently. Dany was both relieved and delighted - her children couldn't feel fire. All of them.

Before Rhaenys could react, her mother called for her husband, and her children's lord father, never losing her grip on Rhaenys' tiny hand.

The wap of steel on her legs made her inwardly panic. More strikes, and one of them would grow numb. Rhaenys knew the key to proper swordplay was footwork. Injure a person's leg, and defeat would come to them soon enough. It was the day she was trained to the sword, blind-folded. Her lady mother largely protested, although her lord father merely bent his eyebrows together in concentration, and in the end, consented to the training session.

"It's not everyday that a girl gets to be trained in swordplay by the Hand of the King," her father had said, then. "I trust my sister, Dany. Rhaenys must be strong".

At that, the Hand of the King smiled in satisfaction. Rhaenys couldn't see the Hand's reaction now, but heard it in the way she enunciated her words. She gritted her teeth in frustration, and lashed out with her sword.

"Focus! Your footwork is off, _again. _I want to see the Serpent, and I want it done right."

Her leg felt the sting of the flat of the Hand's blade again, and panted. Somewhere, she heard Viserion's growl, but she knew her dragon wouldn't do anything rash. Viserion was always calm and collected, while her brothers' dragons had to be restrained when her brothers were put to the blindfold.

Carefully, Rhaenys lunged, two steps, no, three. At the second-and-a-half, she vaulted backwards, praying it was in the equivalent of four paces. Her sword didn't leave her like the last time, and she was immediately reassured. _Fear cuts deeper than swords, _she thought, as she slashed through _the Serpent_, slashes she couldn't see.

Her eyes had to adjust to the sudden burst of sunlight, when her half-aunt Arya Stark yanked her blindfold from behind.

"Good. Not bad for having learned it in three hours. I'd probably give you a hug, but you're as sweat-covered as a tavern-singer on a bad night," Arya smiled, as she took Rhaenys' sword and just as quickly replaced it with a cask filled with water.

Rhaenys drank greedily, savoring each mouthful. Being denied of water all throughout the blindfold training helped make the trainee lithe and light on their feet. She coaxed herself beforehand, refusing water even in the most grueling of sessions, her biggest fear being collapsing and hyperventilating.

"Thank you, m'lady Hand," she replied, always remembering her courtesies. Indeed, she seemed to notice for the first time, that her sleeveless tunic was covered front and back with perspiration. "Am I good enough to receive my great sword now?"

Arya laughed then, and grabbed a strip of cloth from her pocket, to dry Rhaenys' face with.

"You've still got a lot to learn, kid. You're still fourteen, and scrawny to boot. We've got the same body type, remember?"

Rhaenys frowned a little. Arya Stark was _not _scrawny, at least, not anymore, slender, yes. Unbeknownst to her aunt, her lord father would tell them stories of their Aunt Arya's adventures, even how she was always mistaken for a Stark son, and how Yoren of the Night's Watch cut her hair to match a boy's, and when no one noticed anything amiss (except for Gendry, Robert Baratheon's bastard) until someone named Hot Pie spotted her making water by a bush. To this day, Rhaenys could never picture it, as she would look upon her aunt's wavy tumble of brown hair and gray Stark eyes.

"Many say she's Lyanna Stark, born again," her lord father would tell her, with melancholy. It was his way when he spoke of his real parents. Although he was a Baratheon bastard, her father always had the Stark look about him, from his mother.

"My brothers got their great swords, _Melarxes _and _Eschere._"

"Yes, I know that."

"And I've got a name sorted out already for mine and everything."

"Well that won't help your case, but let's have a go at that name."

"_Nymeria."_

Her statement achieved its desired effect. Arya's eyes widened in surprise…or was it sadness? Right when Rhaenys' hopes were about to reach an all time high however, Jon Snow stepped into the room.

He was a controversial king, probably the most of all time. He was king by marriage to Daenerys Targaryen, causing blatant uproar and unrest that was still kindling to this day, but of a much lesser extent, especially regarding his swearing of kingship under the new gods, disregarding his swearing of the Night's Watch vow under the old gods. Probably the most divisive and debatable act of the start of his kingship was declaring his children Targaryens, making an oath not allowing them to carry a bastard's name, as they were born after the marriage. Some of the common people followed the practice, but they had to have permission from the King himself to push through with it.

"She's improving, though right?" Jon smiled.

"Well of course, but she's got to learn how to best handle pressure. It wouldn't hurt If she'd grow a bit."

"I'm right here!"

"See what you did, Jon? It's not her fault she's bloody small."

"Probably got it from her mother."

"I'll be taller or just as tall as mother one day, you'll see!"

"Until then, I think she might need a longer sword."

"M'lady Rhaenys! Your brother Aeron's been sending for you!" came the sudden outburst coming from Mancell Tarly, Aeron's squire, as he briskly left as fast as he came.

"Did you hear that, Arya? My son's been sending squires now. The nerve of that boy…."

"He's a man grown, Jon. He can handle it."

"Well he could've called for her himself. It isn't that hard."

"You know him Jon, he's a _prince."_

"Can I go now, please?"

"Well of course dear, why are you still standing here? Get a move on, before I ask your father for an extra hour of training from you."

**A/N: Sorry for the abrupt use of sparring dialogue. I have my moments like that. If you're wondering, yes, Melarxes is from *spoiler alert* one of Daenerys' ships in a Clash of Kings, while Escheres is one of the random warriors from Beowulf who gets killed. Don't start thinking of symbolisms just yet, cause I just picked those names cause they sounded badass. Feel free to leave a comment or review if you wish. It's a WIP so more chapters to come, soon.**


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